


The Naïve Nephilim

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [6]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Game - Rock, paper, scissors! Jack gets played by Dean and the reader has some practical advice to outwit the Winchester at his own game.





	The Naïve Nephilim

You enter the bunker’s dungeonesque laundry room, the overhead fluorescent light eerily flickering and making an intermittent pinging buzz. For all the creep factor, at least it smells nice and clean – the fragrance of hot dryer sheets hanging in the humid air. Your focus lifts from the overflowing clothes basket balanced before you to find Jack sitting on the rocking and clearly unbalanced dryer.

He glances up, expression glazed in boredom. “Hi, Y/N,” he greets you in a dull monotone, flipping to the next page of the book he holds and exhaling a weary sigh.

“Hey Jack.” You set your linen laden basket on the edge of the washer and peer around the small space, noticing the stacks of neatly folded flannel, well-worn jeans, cotton tees, and more manly undergarments than Jack could possibly call his own on the counter. Your regard settles again on the boy, asking, “Whatcha doin’?”

He shrugs, casting a forlorn stare at the mass of clean clothing, muttering, “Sam and Dean’s laundry.”

“Oh,” you murmur, not at all surprised. Shoving your dirty sheets into the washer, you dryly add, “That’s nice of you.” You know damn well it’s Dean’s weekend to do the laundry – it’s right there in red dry erase marker on the whiteboard chore spreadsheet he created in the kitchen. You also know he’d do anything to get out of doing the laundry and you suspect Jack’s been had.

“Is it?” Jack searches your face, his brow knotting with intensity. “ _Nice_ of me?”

“Sure,” you answer, pouring a capful of gooey green liquid detergent to the basin. Slamming shut the lid and pressing the dial, you turn to give Jack your undivided attention. Reclining against the machine as it fills with water, you elaborate, “You know, if you _wanted_ to do it. Out of the pure goodness of your heart and all.”

He chews the inside of his cheek. Setting the book behind himself, he hops from the dryer, sticking his hands contritely in his pockets and admitting, “I didn’t want to do the laundry, but scissors cut paper.”

“What?”

“Scissors cut paper,” he repeats.

“I see.” You raise an eyebrow. The whole scheme reeks of the elder Winchester using that absurd rock-paper-scissors game again to avoid his share of the domestic responsibilities around here. It isn’t the first time, and you know it’s not the last. Hell, you still can’t shake the image of Castiel somberly scrubbing the toilet in bright yellow gloves with his sleeves carefully rolled up and bulging at the elbows like some indentured seraphim servant.

“I’m also making dinner tonight.” Jack frowns, a lock of dark blonde hair sweeping across his forehead, earnestly inquiring, “Does it make me a bad person if I don’t want to do any of these things?”

“No Jack.” You reach out to squeeze his arm, explaining, “It just makes you a normal teenager who Dean is taking unfair advantage of.”

His eyes widen.

“Don’t worry about it, he did the same thing to Cas. Call it a convoluted borderline hazing way of showing you he has faith in you. I mean, you don’t trust just anyone to keep your whites white, do you?”

“I guess not, no.” Jack shakes his head.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret for next time,” you whisper, leaning closer, “Dean always chooses scissors, and rock crushes scissors.”

“ _Rock crushes scissors_ ,” he mouths the words, committing them to memory, a thin smile curving his lips and the sparkle returning to his eyes. His eyes suddenly narrow in reflective thought, looking back over his shoulder at the roiling dryer where he combined Sam’s favorite red flannel with an assortment of Dean’s crisp white t-shirts. “What you said about keeping the whites _white_. Is that important?”


End file.
